


A Small Door, Past My Memories (That I’d Locked Shut)

by bubblepulp



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, just pure thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24137947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblepulp/pseuds/bubblepulp
Summary: One of Akaashi’s shonen manga artists wants to use Bokuto as a reference, which requires a lot of time spent with Bokuto being shirtless. Akaashi may be having a Crisis.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 13
Kudos: 149





	A Small Door, Past My Memories (That I’d Locked Shut)

When Akaashi had first accepted a position as editor in the shonen manga department, he had put up with a lot of teasing from his friends.

‘You’ll be well-suited for it! You’ve been dealing with a shonen-like idiot for a long time now.’ They had said.

‘Did you miss having Bokuto around that much?’ They had teased.

‘Akaashi, that’s great! Have them make a manga about me! Oh, and get me a lot of autographs!’ Said implied idiot in question had requested, with a booming laugh.

Though Akaashi had been deeply disappointed he hadn’t been offered a job straight out of college into the department of his choice, he had indeed been well-trained to deal with the mercurial and deadline dodging artists who made up a small, but trying, portion of the clients he managed.

No one got their dream job right away, he tried to console himself as he left voicemail after voicemail for a particularly reclusive and headache inducing artist whose serialization was consistently voted as one of the best works produced from their company.

This would prove to be a valuable opportunity for him to gain experience in his chosen field, he reminded himself as he sent rejection letters that were more carefully crafted than 95% of the content he received.

It would also give him time, in between fixing the same grammar mistakes over and over, to help build his online presence. He had for a class assignment created a website that he needed to update more, was fairly active professionally on social media, and as a hobby ran a volleyball editorial type blog.

Lastly, he was making important connections when he wasn’t reading another uninspired story about a ninja with a demon housed within him or a pirate wanting to rule all over all the pirates.

He would have thought that after months of being bombarded from all sides during most of his waking hours, he would have become immune to bombastic protagonists or men so muscular that their shirts were constantly on the verge of tearing if they so much as got into a fighting stance.

Reality, however, had a way of being far more difficult to manage than fiction. Despite his hectic schedule, Bokuto-san still found time to keep in touch with Akaashi, perhaps out of a sense of reciprocity since Akaashi attended as many of the Jackal’s games as possible.

“Wow, Akaashi! Your desk is really plain! Are you sure you’ve been here for almost two years now?” Bokuto Koutarou made Akaashi’s tiny desk, already dwarfed with manuscripts, edits, and an owl shaped coffee mug filled with red markers, seem miniscule. Akaashi was sure that if he had his former ace sit in his chair, not only would he knock elbows with his deskmates on either side, but Bokuto-san would also send his carefully organized paper towers crashing to the ground.

Both to prevent this from happening, and to prove that he was settled in so Bokuto-san didn’t have to worry, he moved between Bokuto-san and his desk to pick up one of his prized possessions.

“I do have some personal effects.” He gave Bokuto-san a framed photo while clearing the clutter away from the edge of his desk, just in case.

“Ooh! Our team photo!” Delighted, Bokuto-san raised it up to the light as if he had never seen it before, even though Akaashi knew that through most of their third year it had been his captain’s wallpaper, poorly cropped. Once he was satisfied, he noticed that Akaashi’s desk also housed the birthday present Bokuto-san had given him during Akaashi’s first year in college. His eyes widened, his expression softening into immense fondness and happiness. “And you still have the owl mug I got you!”

Akaashi felt far too warm, trapped between Bokuto-san and his desk, despite adjusting the collar of his shirt. It did little to alleviate the flush on his face.

Many of his coworkers, he suddenly noticed, had stopped pretending to work altogether and were watching this interaction with barely concealed interest.

“Yes, of course.” Gently, he placed a hand onto Bokuto-san’s back to start corralling him away from his desk and any potential questions or introductions. “Let’s continue to the break room so we’re not disturbing anyone working. Our vending machine has your favorite drinks.”

“Ooh!” Bokuto-san shouted excitedly, thankfully already in the hallway. “I want three! What about you, Akaashi?”

“Just one is fine.”

\---

After Bokuto-san had left, having updated Akaashi on all aspects of his life and having finished off two of the homemade lunches that Akaashi had made along with four of his beloved energy drinks, he was surprised to see one of his shyer artists hanging around his desk.

Akaashi quickly ran through his mental calendar to see if they had a scheduled meeting today, but came up empty. Matsuoka-san was consistent with deadlines, communicative, and hard working. The only real fault that he had, if it could be considered as such in this industry, was that he tended to hyperfixate on strange things and to be a little socially unaware.

He was twisting at the hem of his shirt nervously, jumping up slightly in surprise as Akaashi stopped short of his desk. It probably didn’t help that Akaashi was a good head taller than the man, and tended to tower despite his best efforts. “Ah, Akaashi-san!”

“How can I help you, Matsuoka-san?” Akaashi gestured for Matsuoka-san to take a seat. When the artist refused with a quick shake of his head, Akaashi took the seat with a small shrug, then turned to give Matsuoka-san his full attention.

He didn’t need to be prompted again.

“I have a favor to ask! That man you were talking with, do you think he’d be interested in being a model?” Before Akaashi could clarify with an, ‘oh, do you mean Bokuto-san?’, Matsuoka-san was already plowing ahead. “His back muscles alone are works of art-”

“I can ask him,” Akaashi interrupted quickly before Matsuoka-san could launch into a detailed analysis of Bokuto’s physical virtues that would be rather uncomfortable for Akaashi for various reasons, “but his work keeps him very busy. Would reference shots be acceptable?”

Matsuoka-san sighed, looking a little put out, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered this. “It would be better if he could just model for me for an afternoon-”

Akaashi’s eyes narrowed despite his best intentions, feeling fiercely protective of Bokuto-san’s free time. Bokuto-san was the hardest worker that Akaashi knew, and what little time off he had was precious. Akaashi himself tried not to jealously hoard too much, because Bokuto-san had other friends he should be spending time with. For one, Akaashi knew from personal experience Kuroo-san tended to become more and more out of hand if Bokuto-san didn’t interact with him regularly.

Not to mention, while he was sure Bokuto-san would be over the moon at being asked to model, Akaashi would have to deal with the aftermath. The very loud, boastful, headache inducing aftermath. It was just for those two very reasonable reasons that he disapproved, nothing more.

Matsuoka-san swallowed visibly at that look, but rallied and continued on admirably whereas former teammates of Akaashi’s had fallen and never recovered. “Reference shots will be fine! Let me jot down a few! If he could be shirtless as well, I would appreciate it.”

The request wasn’t too odd or unreasonable, but Akaashi closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to fight off the rising panic in his chest. While it was one thing to have seen Bokuto-san changing out of his volleyball uniform out of the corner of his eyes countless times, it was something else entirely to shamelessly and unabashedly ask for pictures and poses.

He opened his eyes to see Matsuoka-san sketched out a few rough poses on his sketchbook, a deep anxiousness welling in his gut. He accepted the page of poses with gaunt solemnity, holding it between two fingers like a used handkerchief he wasn’t sure what to do with. None of them were too vulgar, and yet knowing these required Bokuto-san to be shirtless was almost too much. But at the sight of Matsuoka-san’s hopeful, excited face, he forced a nod of acknowledgement, tucking the paper into his briefcase.

“... I’ll do my best.”

\---

“Akaashi, maybe we should take a break.” It was only twenty minutes into the reference photoshoot, and Akaashi was sure his face was redder than the time he had fallen asleep on the beach during their school trip second year and had burnt to the shade of a lobster. Which was a bit paradoxical, considering he was sure most of the blood was definitely nowhere near his brain.

As soon as Bokuto-san had stripped off his shirt and started to pose in earnest, Akaashi had felt his brain cells trickling like sand down an hourglass with a very generous funnel. More times than he cared to own up to, he had to stop to wipe his glasses that kept seeming to fog up or take a deep breath in an effort to steady his hands.

In the time that Akaashi had gotten a desk job and possibly a few pounds that went along with being less active, Bokuto-san had only gotten more defined and cut. The back that he had always admired and thought about maybe once or twice had become more toned, and underneath the bright lighting that Akaashi had borrowed from photography in an effort to make these photos as well-lit as possible, he kept watching beads of sweat collect then trace lines along the muscle and bone there.

He watched a particularly shiny specimen of sweat collect on Bokuto-san’s sharp collarbones, before physically tearing his gaze away and looking at Bokuto-san’s amused face.

“Yes, of course. I have some snacks-” In his attempts to turn away quickly and not be caught staring, he bumped the tripod for the ( very expensive ) camera he had also borrowed from work. He reached out to catch it, but Bokuto-san was still just as quick as ever, if not more so. His large warm hand cupped the back of Akaashi’s as they both held up the camera tripod, and if perhaps, this had happened back in high school or even college, Akaashi would have immediately expired on the spot.

But now that he was a consummate professional and more mature, Akaashi only needed a few moments to compose himself and right the camera, his heart still beating wildly in his chest. Bokuto-san hadn’t retracted his hand, and guiltily, Akaashi wasn’t going to point it out, instead opening his mouth to thank him when Bokuto-san beat him to the punch with a loud laugh.

“You’re not usually so clumsy Akaashi! Are the lights getting to you? Or,” Bokuto-san leaned in closer, grinning knowingly, golden eyes sharp and lasering in straight to Akaashi’s weak points, “is it something else?”

The low roughness of his voice was something Akaashi had never heard before, and it sent a quick thrill down his spine. Maybe he hadn’t been the only one who had been maturing all this time.

“Yes,” Akaashi found himself saying as he leaned in closer to Bokuto-san, so close he could see the flecks of brown in the gold of his eyes, “how do you feel about posing for some personal references…”

\---

A few days later, when Matsuoka-san stopped by for his weekly meeting and to pick up the reference photos, Akaashi still didn’t know what had possessed him to say and do such things at the photoshoot. He was sure he was still a bit pink when he handed over the photos, apologizing for not being able to get all of them.

“Bokuto-san’s schedule was busier than expected. Perhaps next week I’ll have the rest of the poses for you.” Akaashi had mumbled, trying very hard not to touch the mark on his shoulder, hidden by his long sleeved shirt and a sweater as a precaution. He could still feel it when he touched it, and it never failed to make him shiver.

“It’s fine, please don’t apologize! I appreciate your hard work as always.” Matsuoka-san had said, pleased as he thumbed through the photographs. Akaashi felt his heart rate start to speed up, his fingers twisting in his lap when Matsuoka-san paused on one of the photographs, brows snapping together in confusion. Had Akaashi forgotten to take out a few of the ones he’d taken for personal use? He’d gone over the photos a thousand times just to be thorough, double checking right up until Matsuoka-san had shown up just in case he had somehow missed it in the thousand other checks. But it would of course, stand to reason, he could have still missed one-

“His back is very unreal.” Matsuoka-san said finally, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe his luck, and Akaashi smiled weakly, relieved that was all it was.

‘You have no idea,’ Akaashi wanted to say, hands already heating up at the memory of Bokuto’s back against his hands, broad and warm and _solid_. Instead what he said was, “Please give me however many reference pose requests you need and it would be my pleasure to get them for you.”


End file.
